I don’t think my Mom Generations’ girls (previously Pinks and Blues) are doing Throwback Thursday anymore…ladies, will you confirm?

Anyway…

Today is very much a Throwback Thursday for me.  Thirteen years ago on this day, my dad passed away.  I was just 17 (kind of reminds you of a song, huh?) and very much a social butterfly.  Always going out with my friends and just being, well, a normal teenager.  I’m not quite in the mood right now to rehash all of the details from that difficult time.  Now, I’m just over a month away from turning 31 and although I’ve lived these past 13 years without having my dad physically around, he has had a constant presence in my mind.

I love this time of year…I always have.  I love the change of the summer season into Fall.  There’s something about the scent in the air, the crispness in the wind and the changing colors of the leaves.  Could be that I hate the summer heat, too.  Eh, six of one; a half dozen of the other, right?

I digress.  It never fails, this time of year my mind goes into cruise control and I’m whisked right back to that final week of my dad’s life.  I guess that is why I consider losing him at such an important time in my life such a traumatic experience, besides the fact that I knew for two months that he was going to die.

As I age, my memory of the times I shared with him are slowly fading.  That tears my heart like you wouldn’t believe.  I’m grasping to remember all of the little things.  I always say how unfair it is that the rest of my family had more time with him than I did.  There is still an ounce of envy in me about that.  They all knew him better than me.  Don’t get me wrong, I do remember my dad.  I do remember bits and pieces of the time I had with him growing up.  The times he would include me on his fishing trips.  The times he drove me to my softball practices and games and how he cheered me on.  He was always there.  Always a part of everything I did.  He was the backbone of our family.  He was always in the garage, working on some project or some car.  He was always in a white t-shirt and in blue work pants.  Unless we were going to a fair or to visit relatives.  Then he had jeans and a nice shirt on.  He wore a cap a lot too.  Always covering that pull-over.  :)

I remember he was light-hearted and funny.  I remember hearing him have conversations and how he sounded and his laugh.  He was easy-going and very much liked by everyone.  I remember him helping with school projects and bowling on Tuesday nights.  I remember the smell of his Old Spice cologne and his after shave.  And the cup he would put his false teeth into.  Yes, I remember that about him.  :)

I remember that when my mom was out at her ceramics class or just out of the house for whatever reason (which wasn’t often), he would make hamburgers and Lipton noodle soup for us.  That’s what he made for us because he was good at that.

I remember that he was stern, only when he needed to be.  And when he was stern, you listened.  You did not question.  But like I said, that wasn’t often.  Maybe we were just really great kids?  :)

I remember the glider on the back porch and sitting outside on summer nights.  I remember him gliding with us and singing “Found a Peanut” and “She’ll be coming round the mountain”.  I still can’t sing those songs to Hailey without getting choked up.  Those were my songs with my dad.  Those were our songs.

I remember him playing horseshoes with my uncles.  I remember the hunting trips in the winter when my mom and I would stay home and bake Christmas cookies or go shopping with my aunts.  I remember him laying on the floor in front of the console t.v., eating greasy Wise potato chips (thanks for reminding me, Bill!).  I remember him always running out to the store for milk, chips and cigarettes.  The cigarettes that would play a part in taking his life.  I told him once that he was “killing me” because he smoked.  He apologized.  That’s when I learned that cigarettes were bad.

I remember sitting in the backyard and finding (or trying to find) four leaf clovers.  I remember “finding” money in the yard.  I’m pretty sure he placed those coins in the yard because I don’t ever recall having a money tree.  I remember playing catch in the backyard.  He was always trying to teach me how to throw straight.  I never really figured out how.

But I don’t have any new memories of him from the last 13 years.  He didn’t walk me down the aisle.  He doesn’t know my husband and he doesn’t know my precious little girl.  And that is hard.  He doesn’t know the people in my life now who mean the world to me.  And that is so hard.  Not a day goes by where I don’t realize this.  I can tell my husband that he just would have loved my dad and I can tell my daughter that her Grandpa John was such a wonderful guy but they will just never know.  They can’t know what I know and that is extremely hard.

They will never know his big 6-foot frame, like I did.  His long arms and his stained hands from working at a plant his entire life.  They will never have the opportunity to look into those happy, smiling eyes of his or hear his boisterous laugh, like I did.

He’s in a peaceful place now.  And his grave site is overlooking the beautiful Pennsylvania hills.  There is a gravestone in front of his with a “Fisherman’s Prayer” on the back of it.  Too fitting.  I still have a hard time visiting the cemetery when I’m home for visits.  Each step I take toward that site my heart just squeezes tighter and tighter in my chest.  Although, I know he is not there.  I know he’s with me.

Though these years are passing by, this is a hurt that I don’t think will ever go away.  I won’t lie.  I can’t say that it has gotten any easier either.  Especially not today.

Mom, I’m thinking of you today.